The weapon had a satin nickel finish and a walnut grip inlaid with gold initials.
“My father gave it to me when I graduated from Annapolis.”
Earl released the magazine and inspected it. He sniffed the barrel. “Me, I was just a grunt. A kid in the mud in Korea. How about you? What did you do in the service?”
“Things I’m not allowed to talk about, actually. What does this have to do with what happened here tonight?”
“Nothing. Just shooting the breeze.” He slipped the magazine back in. “One round is missing. And it’s been fired recently.”
“I fired a test round this afternoon.”
“You were expecting trouble?”
“One of the important lessons I learned in the service was to anticipate and be prepared for all contingencies. May I have my gun back?”
“Of course.” He handed it over. “This particular incident seems to have been directed at you personally. Do you know anyone who’d have reason to want to harm you? Anyone who might have a grudge against you, or a deep animosity?”
“Who doesn’t these days?”
Earl grinned, politely. “After you read the note, why did you choose to walk to the marina rather than take your vehicle?”
Lindstrom shrugged. “It’s not far from the school. And-I don’t know-I guess I thought I might be able to check the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Before you blundered into anything?”
“Something like that.”
“You seemed to be thinking pretty clearly. Your military training?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you ever think about informing Sheriff Schanno?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Enough time for a leisurely stroll to the marina.”
“Maybe I wasn’t thinking so clearly after all. This isn’t a situation I face every day. Besides, I thought…”
“What?”
“That maybe this Eco-Warrior really was interested in bringing an end to things. And if that was the case, I had an obligation to try.”
“That’s an admirable motivation, Mr. Lindstrom. When you checked the lay of the land, did you see anything?”
“No. Only Cork.”
“And lucky for you, eh?” Earl turned to Cork and gave him a congenial smile. “You’re part Ojibwe, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about Our Grandfathers?”
“I’d hate to see them cut. But not enough to kill a man over it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Lindstrom put his cup down on the dash, hard. Coffee sloshed out, all over Lindstrom’s hand and the clean interior of Schanno’s vehicle. “Look, Earl. I don’t like the way these questions are going. I’d be fish food right now if it wasn’t for Cork. And as for any of us thinking clearly, well maybe we weren’t. But you know, it’s our asses on the line here. It’s our businesses that are suffering. It’s our community that’s being torn apart. Who the hell are you to come butting into something you don’t understand or care about?”
“One man’s been murdered already, Mr. Lindstrom. And someone just tried to kill you. Murder is my business, and about that business, I care a lot. But I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve been through enough for one night. No more questions.”
He stepped away. As he headed toward his partner, who was donning the diving gear, he lit up another Marlboro.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Lindstrom asked.
“He’s just doing his job, Karl.”
Cork turned and looked toward Jo. She stared out across the lake, beyond all the confusion. It was dark enough for the halogen security light to have come on, illuminating the parking lot. Jo looked white, her skin frosted, and when her eyes turned to Cork, there seemed to be no warmth in them at all.
Schanno left Larson and harbormaster Jack Beagan and headed back to the Land Cruiser. Agent Earl came back as well.
“Beagan says Matador belongs to Stan and Bernadette Lukas,” Schanno reported.
“Stan and Bernadette spend every July in Seattle with their son’s family,” Cork said. “The whole town knows that.”
“Exactly,” Schanno said. “I’m thinking whoever planted that explosive was counting on no one except Karl to step aboard.”
“Did the harbormaster see anything suspicious around the boat lately?” Earl asked.
“Nothing.”
“Makes sense. If the charge was set underwater, there wouldn’t have been much to see,” Earl said. “Mark will be able to tell us more after he’s had a look.”
“What about the note?” Schanno asked.
“I’ll get it down to the lab in St. Paul tonight, but it will probably be a couple of days, at least, before they can tell us anything.”
Schanno nodded but didn’t look particularly happy about the time frame. “Karl, I want you to head on over to the hospital, get yourself examined. I’ll have one of my deputies accompany you, take a full statement, and make sure you get home okay.”
Lindstrom climbed out of the Land Cruiser and went to the waiting ambulance. Earl returned to his partner. Schanno shook his head.
“Ever feel like you’re holding a bag full of scorpions and you know sooner or later you’re gonna have to reach inside?”
“Wally,” Cork replied, “I know that feeling well.” There was nothing more for Cork to do there. He joined his wife. “If you’re willing, I could use a lift back to my Bronco.”
Without a word, Jo turned and started walking.
By the time they drove to the school, night had descended fully. The town was reduced to a skeleton, bones of light with a lot of dark between. Jo was silent, and Cork could feel the heat of her anger. There was a little flame in him, too, but he didn’t want to feed it. What good would it do, both of them flaring? Silence, he decided, was better.
Jo finally spoke. “So. I guess you were right.”
“About what?”
“Karl’s needing your help. Everybody seems to think he’d be dead if it weren’t for you. On the other hand, it could have ended with both of you dead. But then, that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“What territory?”
“Law enforcement.” She paused the car at a stop sign, not long enough to be legal, and took off quickly. “When do you plan to make your announcement?”
“What are you talking about? What announcement?”
“Your candidacy. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it, Cork? Or should I say Sheriff O’Connor?”
“For crying out loud, Jo. Didn’t I promise that we’d talk before I made a decision?”
“You’ve already decided. Look at you. Every step of the way since the bombing, you’ve been there, ahead of everybody else. You’re besting everyone at this game.”
“It’s not a game.”
“Isn’t it? People’s lives are at stake, but the point of all this as far as Cork O’Connor is concerned is to show people what a great investigative mind he has, what a mistake they made when they let him go. Tell me, doesn’t it feel good right here”-she reached across the seat and slapped him hard in the gut-“to know how great you are at all this?”
